Magically Delicious
by Moonshayde
Summary: It's St. Patrick's Day and the brothers find themselves on a hunt that doesn't go exactly how they'd planned. Season 3 Spoilers.


Disclaimer: Supernatural and its characters are the property of Eric Kripke and co. All other characters, the story idea and the story itself are the sole property of the author. This is for entertainment purposes only; no financial profit has been gained from this story. This story is not mean to infringe upon the rights of the above-mentioned establishments.

* * *

For Dean, St. Patrick's Day had always consisted of four things: shamrocks, booze, women, and booze.

Tonight had none of those things.

Dean glared into the forest. The darkness curled around the edges, soaking into the trees and the underbrush, bringing with it the chill of a Maine March night. Dean shivered. He couldn't see past a couple of feet, but he knew it was out there somewhere. The night was too quiet, too subdued, and their quarry was slick. None of that mattered; Dean was going to make it his mission to put a golden bullet in the creep's head.

As soon as they found a way to break from the rope that bound them to the large oak tree, that is.

Dean grunted and pulled at the rope to try to free himself, but to no avail.

"Okay, so this isn't how I'd imagined things would go," he mumbled.

"That's an understatement."

Dean turned his head to the side, trying to catch a glimpse of Sam who happened to be tied to the opposite side of the tree behind him. Despite the darkness, Dean could see his face was pinched with annoyance and displeasure.

"Hey, this wasn't part of the plan."

"There never _was_ a plan," Sam muttered.

"There was a plan," Dean said in defense. "Getting tied up in the woods so that thing could get its freak on just wasn't part of it."

Sam snorted behind him.

"What?" Dean asked.

"It'll be easy, you said. It'll be like old times, you said. It's just a leprechaun, you said." The rope started to tug as Sam struggled. "Do you even know anything about leprechauns?"

Dean felt his cheeks warm under the night chill. "Of course I do."

"Lucky doesn't count, Dean."

"Dude, I don't get my intel from a cereal box," Dean muttered.

"Seriously? You could have fooled me."

"Don't you get testy with me."

Sam sighed. "I told you it was a stupid plan then, and I'm telling you it's stupid now. Just what did you expect? A pot of gold?" Sam paused and then let out a derisive laugh. "That's exactly what you expected, wasn't it?"

"You know, how about less talking and more tugging."

So what if he'd expected the leprechaun to be a little more glamorous. He might not have been expecting a huge pot of gold, but the little dwarves usually guarded something of worth. It could be gold or some kind of magical weapon they could use to hunt Lilith. As far as Dean was concerned, there was no harm in hunting the runt and collecting a bonus on the side.

It would be nice to live a little or for Sam to have something for when he was gone.

He rubbed his wrists against the trunk of the tree, pushing the fibers against the bark. He started to feel some of the rope loosen and unwind, but at the rate they were going, Twinkle Toes would be back long before they had gotten a quarter of the way through.

Dean tried to scoot closer to Sam. If he could get close to his wrists, maybe he could pick at the fibers and loosen the rope to free him.

Apparently, Sam had the same idea. Between mutters and curses, the two of them picked and prodded, their awkward fingers peeling away the fibers of the rope as they continued to vigorously rub against the bark.

A twig snapped in the distance. Dammit.

The two of them picked up the pace. Dean tried not to think how ridiculous they both must look, knowing that in the end it wouldn't matter anyway. Those Irish bastards were not as friendly and delightful as people might think.

Dean stopped and sniffed the air. He frowned. "You smell that?"

"Smells like…mint?"

"Mint?" Dean pulled at the rope and let out a heavy sigh. "What's he thinking? Just a little garnish –" Dean's face fell.

"Oh crap," he heard Sam say.

They started to saw at the rope with the rough bark without stopping. The local pub was having a special tonight and Dean was not going to miss it. Especially if this turned out to be his last St. Patty's Day on Earth. And no way were they becoming a late night snack for some deranged leprechaun.

"Dude, this is twice," Sam said, pulling and tugging against the rough surface, "in the past four months!"

"Okay, so we got a little sloppy with the pagan gods, but this is a leprechaun. We can take him."

That's when the singing started.

Somewhere in the darkness ahead of them came the light and cheerful verse of a limerick. But the longer that Dean listened to the words, the more they changed, becoming dirtier and more obscene until changing into something bloody and terrifying.

"Is he singing about organs?" Dean asked.

"The rope, Dean."

They were still sawing at the rope when the runt made his appearance. He hadn't changed much since he first had the drop on them – green breeches, white stockings and little buckled shoes. But instead of a little hammer and a shoe in his hands, this time he had a chainsaw.

He smiled a wicked smile and raised the chainsaw over his head, even if it was the same size as his stumpy body. He inched toward Dean.

"I swear you come any closer and I am going to ram your lucky charms so far up your ass you'll wish you never stepped out of that rainbow."

The leprechaun only let out a perverse chuckle. Nonplused, he tossed a handful of salt at Dean before starting to make his way around the tree toward Sam. Behind him, he heard Sam grunt as he flicked more salt. The leprechaun just laughed and tossed some spices around the tree, dancing his merry little way around them.

Dean swore if he broke out into a jig…

The chainsaw roared to life.

Crap.

"Hey, hey. Can't we talk about this?" Dean asked.

"Just a little misunderstanding," Sam added.

Dean felt the rope loosen. Immediately, he went for his gun.

The leprechaun jerked, two shots hitting him square in the chest. Dean glanced at his gun before turning to Sam. Sam's gun still was smoking, but not even the smoke and the dark could mask his cold, determined face.

The leprechaun looked down and frowned. "That was me best vest."

"You're not going to have to worry about it anymore," Sam said.

Dean raised his gun and fired the gold tipped bullet right between the leprechaun's eyes. The creature twitched and let out a strangled gurgled noise before it slumped into a smoking pile on the ground. Sam and Dean watched in silence as it dissolved into a puddle of slime.

With a sigh, Dean kicked some loose dirt over the dissipating sludge. Then he looked up at Sam. "Dude, where do you get off stealing my thunder?"

"Sorry, I thought you'd prefer not to be minced meat." Sam slipped the gun behind his back. "Besides, he wasn't going to tell us where his treasure was anyway."

"No, but I bet it would have been awesome."

"Most treasure is cursed," Sam reminded him. "I think we've dealt with enough curses."

"Yeah, well screw the little troll anyway." Dean nudged his chin and the two started back to where they had parked the Impala. "Let's hit the pub and enjoy ourselves for once."

Sam laughed at him. "After all this, you still want a drink?"

"Hell yes, I want a drink. Especially after this." He paused. "Just not Bailey's Irish Cream."


End file.
